


Seek and Ye Shall Find

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4587690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They looked everywhere for the proof, knowing that without it, their mission would be deemed a failure.  Or at least, almost everywhere.</p><p>My sincerest apologies for this up front.  It's just one of those days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek and Ye Shall Find

Illya Kuryakin paused and pulled the gas mask off, ignoring the havoc the action had on his hair. A quick shake and it settled back in to place. The air stank, but it was breathable. Around him, he could hear his fellow agents ransacking the other rooms throughout the structure. It was true that they had captured the THRUSH outpost, but there was no telling when enemy reinforcements might show up.

“Nothing here, sir.” A fellow agent, his face smeared with soot, trotted up to Illya. “We’ve looked everywhere.”

“Okay, move on to the next room. Leave nothing unturned. We have to find that proof. Remember it can be very small and hidden almost anywhere.”

“Yes, sir.” The agent stopped short of saluting and Illya hid a smile.   Illya’s communicator went off and he hurriedly answered it. “Kuryakin.”

“Anything?” Napoleon Solo’s voice was tinny.

“Not yet, but we are still looking.”

“I think I have something, but I need to tell you in person.”

“Understood. Kuryakin out.” Obviously, Napoleon feared that their signals might be picked up. He waved to a passing agent.

“Yeah, Illya?”

“Napoleon might have found something, but just in case, keep looking.”

“Will do.”

Illya weaved his way through the maze of corridors, thankful that he’d taken the time to memorize the ground plans before the attack. It had saved them precious minutes during the first part of their attack.

Illya rounded the corner and spotted Napoleon, massaging his hand. Behind him, a THRUSH agent was slumped in a chair, the only thing holding him in place were the ropes binding him.

“Did he talk?”

“I’m not sure. The only thing he would say is canteen.” Napoleon held up a canteen and shook it. The keeper chain rattled in response. “There was nothing in here.”

“What if he meant the other kind of canteen? The food kind.”

“Do they have one?”

“I think so. At least there was the potential for one on the ground plans. Come with me.”

Napoleon hooked a thumb over his shoulder at two nearby agents. “Watch him.”

 

Quickly Illya led the way back into the heart of the compound. Sure enough, there was a room, square and filled with small tables. Some of the chairs were toppled as if hurriedly discarded.

“This is going to take some time,” Illya muttered.   “There are hundreds, thousands, of places to hide a proof in here.”

“I’m not sure how much we have left.” Napoleon took out his communicator. “I’ll make some calls.”

An hour later and they were still empty handed. They had checked everything from the furniture to the cheap replicate paintings on the walls.

Desperate, Illya had started working his way through the food, tipping the metal containers out to spread the contents over and onto the floor. He had gravy spattered all over his trousers and stains from the various salad dressings decorating the front of his shirt, but no proof.

“I… ah… hear that salad can be vicious when cornered.”

“Funny guy. Would you like to take my place?”

“It’s a tough job and only the qualified should handle it. I’m afraid to ask, but any luck?”

“No, I’m done with entrees and salads. The only thing left are the desserts.”

Napoleon looked over at the ice cream slowly melting all over the counter. “Good luck.”

“I’d have better luck if you’d help.”

“It’s unavoidable, isn’t it?”

“Unless you want to write the reports up all by yourself, yes.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll start at the other end.”

Illya was just dumping the next to last dish of ice cream into the sink when he heard Napoleon’s shout. At first he thought it was enemy company and he reached for his weapon, only to smear his shirt and jacket with strawberry ice cream.

“I got it!” Napoleon shouted.

“Where was it?” Illya narrowly avoided slipping on the food-slicked floor.

“It should have been obvious from the first. “ Napoleon held up a dish of chocolate pudding, the top already bearing a thin skin, a huge grin decorating his face.

“Oh, no, don’t say it.”

“Yup, the proof is in the pudding.”

 


End file.
